Steps
by paperstorm
Summary: Sometimes Sam loves Dean so much he can't even breathe; it sucks the air right out of his lungs like a vacuum. Other times he can't believe how lucky he is that Dean actually loves him back. WARNING - underage Wincest.


Sam's orgasm hits him like a wrecking ball. It knocks the wind out of him and for a few fantastic moments, he's spinning and falling into blissful oblivion where everything's fuzzy and the lights are too bright and he can't spare a thought for any of it except how good it feels. It happens like that sometimes, when he's thinking about Dean. It's only Sam's right hand but in his head it's Dean's hands, Dean's mouth, Dean's skin like fire against his own. There are definitely worse ways to spend a Sunday night. He comes down slowly, languidly; taking his time to let his breath even out and blinking the spots from behind his eyes because it's one of the few times when he actually _has_ time. Dad and Dean are gone – off on some hunt that was deemed _too dangerous for Sammy_, so they rode off into the sunset and Sam's here all alone, stuck in a fleabag motel for the whole weekend with no one to talk to. He wouldn't mind at all if Dad were gone, truthfully, but he hates it, _hates it_, when Dad takes Dean away. And not just because if Dad had taken this hunt on his own, Sam and Dean would've spend the weekend in bed (although, that too) but because Sam never really feels right when Dean's not there.

The unmistakable rumble of the impala outside rouses Sam from the warm, gooey stupor he'd let himself sink into, and when he scrambles to pull the sheets up over his mostly naked body he catches sight of the little red numbers on the alarm clock – he'd been asleep for almost an hour without even realizing it. S_hit shit shit. _They're not supposed to be home yet, Dad had predicted they'd be gone at least until Tuesday. Sam frantically grabs a handful of tissues out of the carton and wipes himself off as best he can, but it doesn't really work; come that's had an hour to dry and solidify needs more than a Kleenex to get it off but Sam doesn't have time to dash to the bathroom so it'll have to do. Hopefully he can pretend to be asleep again and his Dad and brother will be exhausted enough to just fall into the other bed, and Sam'll be able to sneak into the shower once they've passed out. He scrunches the used tissues into a ball and shoves them under his pillow, and then settles against it just as he hears the scratch of a key in the lock and the door creaks open slowly. Sam shuts his eyes and lays as still as he can, trying to keep his breathing steady even though his heart is firing a million rounds a second. Knowing his luck, Dad will decide tonight he's gonna share a bed with Sam (even though they _never_ do that), and then he'll see what Sam was doing and Sam will be _so_ dead meat.

But apparently the universe is actually smiling on him today, for the first time ever, because there's only one set of footsteps making their way quietly into the room and they're not heavy enough to be Dad's.

"Sammy? You asleep?"

Sam squints one eye open, hopefully pulling off the illusion of just waking up. "Hi Dean."

Dean grins, one of those big, thousand-watt smiles he saves just for Sam, and Sam's heart skips a beat. "Hey kiddo. Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

"S'okay." Sam shakes his head. He opens both eyes, but keeps the sheets tucked securely around his shoulders so Dean can't tell he's naked. "How'd it go? Where's Dad?"

"He's – " Dean begins, but he's cut off by the roar of the impala's engine and the squealing of tires as Dad obviously speeds away. Dean rolls his eyes and gestures out the window. "He's gone again. For a few days, some contact in Tulsa he needs to go talk to or something. I'm not sure."

"Did something happen?" Sam's not exactly upset that Dad's leaving them alone for a while, just the opposite actually, but he doesn't want Dean to be in trouble.

"Nah, he's just … being Dad." Dean shrugs. "Hunt went fine, far as I could tell. Salted, burned, just the one casualty from before we got there. But you know Dad, he can't ever sit still for a minute. Always has to have a mission to be on, right?"

Sam nods. "Guess so."

Dean sighs a little and rubs at the back of his neck before he hauls the bags through the door and heaves them onto the table. Sam gets the impression there's something Dean isn't telling him, but he doesn't push. Whatever it is, it got Dad to take off again and leave Dean with Sam this time, so Sam definitely isn't gonna complain.

"So. What'd you get up to this weekend?" Dean asks, his back to Sam as he unloads a couple guns from one of the bags and starts disassembling them.

"Nothin' really," Sam answers. He eyes Dean's back warily, trying to gauge whether or not he has time to slip out of bed and into some clothes before Dean turns around. "Homework, mostly. Got that paper due tomorrow."

"Mhm." Dean glances over his shoulder and smiles knowingly.

"What?" Sam asks, immediately defensive.

"Smells like jizz in here, dude. You been jerkin' off?"

Sam's face explodes into a blush so hot it's like the world's worst sunburn. "N-no!" he stutters, but Dean just raises an eyebrow and Sam knows he's caught. "Yes," he mumbles, tugging the blankets up over his head so he doesn't have to look Dean in the eyes.

Dean chuckles fondly and moves toward the bed – Sam can see his shadow getting closer through the thin material. Sam tries to shrink as much as he can into the mattress but Dean's too quick for him; grabbing the edge of the sheet and pulling it down enough to expose Sam's burning face.

"Miss me too much to wait?" Dean jokes and Sam groans. That's really, really not helpful.

"Dean …" he whines, unable to keep the pitiful waver out of his voice.

"Oh c'mon, you big baby," Dean chides affectionately. "S'not a big deal."

Sam shrugs miserably. He _knows_ it's not a big deal but that doesn't mean he wants to sit here and talk about it; especially not while Dean's still fully clothed and Sam's completely nude except for an undershirt and covered in his own come like a horny kid. But Dean just sort of considers him for a moment, a funny, unreadable expression on his face, and then he leans down and kisses Sam softly, hands cupping either side of Sam's face. He throws a leg over Sam's and gets up onto the bed, straddling Sam's hips and settling down on top of Sam's body.

"Missed you too," he murmurs into Sam's lips.

"You did?" Sam asks, blinking up into the dark pools of Dean's green eyes.

"'Course." Dean winks and then moves down Sam's jaw, sucking kisses into his skin. "Every day. Thought about you, couldn't wait to get your hands on me for real."

Sam's heart beats a little faster at that, his body tingling all over at the way Dean's lips feel on his neck. Sometimes he's pretty damn sure he could come just from this – just Dean's body against him and Dean's tongue pressing into the soft spot below his ear. It lights up all his senses like electricity; it makes everything brighter and shinier and amazing. Then Dean rocks down into him just so, Sam can feel his brother's denim-covered crotch against his own quickly growing erection and he moans into Dean's mouth.

"Dean," he whispers, wrapping his arms around Dean's back and grabbing at any bit of him he can reach.

"Hold on," Dean says, pushing himself off Sam and standing up. "Too many clothes," he explains with a wry smile, grabbing the collar of his t-shirt and pulling it over his head. Then he unbuttons his jeans and lets them fall down his hips, simultaneously stepping out of his shoes so he can kick his pants off where they're pooled around his ankles. Sam watches raptly, getting harder by the second and the sight of Dean stripping. His hand twitches with the urge to touch himself, but he balls it into a fist by this thigh and holds it there.

"You naked under there, perv?" Dean asks, quirking an eyebrow again and yanking the sheets back before Sam can stop him. The intense blush travels down his neck as he tries in vain to hide himself – it's not like Dean's never seen him without clothes before but Sam would be lying if he said he was totally comfortable with it. Logically, he knows Dean loves him so it shouldn't matter, but Sam can never seem to get it out of his head how unfair it is that Dean's practically some kind of Greek god; all pale, unblemished skin and perfectly sculpted muscle and Sam looks vaguely like a day-old colt; he's way too tall and skinny and awkward to be anything close to attractive enough to deserve someone like Dean.

But Dean, apparently, doesn't agree – his eyes go kind of fuzzy and his mouth falls open a little like Sam's sweat-and-come covered body is the sexiest thing he's ever seen.

"Shit, Sammy," he breathes. "All messed up already, huh?"

Sam shrugs and looks away. It's still a little embarrassing, being on display like this, but it's not like covering up _now_ would stop Dean from already having seen him, so he just closes his eyes and wills his flushed cheeks to cool down. Maybe one day he'll get the hang of being suave like Dean, but for now he's just a blushing, trembling mess and it's kind of pathetic but it's pretty much the only game he's got.

"So fuckin' gorgeous," Dean purrs, tugging Sam's undershit off and then crawling back into the bed and landing mostly on top of Sam, propped up with his elbows on either side of Sam's head. "Hey, look at me. I mean it, you got nothin' to be self-conscious about."

Sam takes a deep breath and nods, smiling up at his brother for half a second before Dean swoops down and captures his lips again. His tongue pets gently along Sam's bottom lip and then he slips it into Sam's mouth; soft and warm as it rubs all those spots that drive Sam absolutely crazy. Dean is really, _really _good at this – Sam sees the way girls stare at Dean's mouth and their eyes glaze over, and he can't blame them. Dean has lips that were just _made_ for kissing; when they get going like this Sam never, ever wants it to stop. He would quite happily just lie here until they both starve to death if it meant he could die with Dean sucking at his tongue like he's feeding from it. For whatever reason, it unhinges something in Sam's brain enough that he finally works up the courage to tell Dean what he's been trying to for a week now.

"Hey, I … um …" Sam starts, attempting to talk and keep licking into Dean's mouth at the same time.

Dean pulls back enough to look inquisitively down at Sam. "You, um," he repeats, drawing it out like a question.

"I … did something," Sam continues, turning his eyes down again because there's no way he's gonna get this out if he has to look at Dean while he does. "Today, when I was … and … before. A few times."

"Okay …" Dean shifts off of Sam and props himself up on one hand.

"I – when I was, um, touching … myself." Sam sniffs and squirms a little. "I used a … finger. Y'know, _there_."

Dean is silent for a few moments, but Sam just stays still and waits for him to get it. When he does, he draws in a quick gasp that turns into a moan, dropping his head down onto Sam's shoulder.

"Oh god," he mumbles. "Seriously? That's so fuckin' _hot_."

"Yeah?" Sam asks uncertainly. It's not something they've talked about before, doing _that_; they've only been in this undefined, whatever-it-is relationship for a few months and at the beginning Sam appreciated how willing Dean was to go slow with him. They graduated unhurriedly from just rubbing against each other to actually touching, quick handjobs in the middle of the night to longer, drawn out blowjobs whenever Dad wasn't there; all of it at Sam's pace and he really liked it that way. It's not like Sam had a whole lot of experience before Dean – he didn't have any, really. Not in the things that matter, anyway. Lately, though, he's been getting antsy for _more_, but he's got a sneaking suspicion it's not going to be that easy to convince Dean he's ready for it.

"Oh yeah," Dean answers, dragging the pad of his thumb slowly across Sam's bottom lip. "You're gonna kill me one of these days."

"So you think maybe … you could? Try that, I mean?" Sam chews at the inside of his cheek nervously; he's not sure how Dean's going to react and it's a bit unsettling.

Dean's eyes widen almost comically, and then his face morphs into a strange expression that Sam can't read. "You – really? Are you sure? I don't wanna …"

Sam grins and nods shyly. "I'm sure. It … I mean, I just used … one. But it felt good."

"It did, huh?" Dean smiles coyly and kisses Sam again. "Where'd you do it?"

"In the shower, once," Sam answers, kissing back eagerly. "And once in bed. I wanted to – try it, before I asked you." He slips his tongue into Dean's mouth and licks over his teeth. "Didn't want you to worry I might not like it."

"You're amazing," Dean whispers, almost reverently, pressing barely-there kisses to Sam's eyelids.

Sam brushes his fingertips over Dean's cheekbone, smiling softly up at him. Sometimes he loves Dean so much he can't even breathe; it sucks the air right out of his lungs like a vacuum. Other times he can't believe how lucky he is that Dean actually loves him back, _wants_ him like this. Dean kisses him again, this time right on the mouth, gently but deeply. His tongue dips into Sam's mouth and licks him everywhere, across the roof of his mouth and over the insides of his cheeks like he wants to taste every inch of Sam he can get to. Sam's halfway tempted to just lie there and let Dean ravish him, but he gives back as good as he gets – sucking at Dean's lips and massaging Dean's probing tongue with his own. They trade fevered kisses for long enough that Sam completely looses track of time; everything in the world that matters to him is right here anyway, right in this bed surrounded by a warm bubble of Dean.

Eventually Dean shifts, moving down Sam's body a little so he can trail wet pecks down his neck and collarbone, stopping to pay particular attention to the hollow of Sam's neck because he knows Sam loves that – Sam sighs happily and arches up into Dean's talented mouth. Blood rushes to every place Dean's lips touch, and when he bites down gently over Sam's ribs, Sam can feel little bursts of heat that probably mean there'll be bruises there tomorrow. He doesn't care; he loves the idea of showering in the morning and pressing his fingers into the tender, abused flesh; little pinpricks of pain spreading through his nerves that'll remind him of this moment and how perfect it is. When Dean gets low enough, he plunges his tongue into Sam's bellybutton and Sam squirms; a tingly wave descending over his whole body that's halfway between ticklish and pure pleasure.

Dean takes his time, driving Sam slowly crazy with lips and teeth and the hot, smooth flat of this tongue, and when he gets level with Sam's weeping erection he doesn't speed up – he teases the head and the bottom of the shaft with little kitten-licks and Sam twitches involuntarily. Usually he has the stamina of a ten year old kid discovering his first boner when Dean's mouth is on him, but he already came once today so if he concentrates he should be better this time. And besides, he _wants_ this, wants to be more for Dean, so he bites his lip and clenches his fists and tries with everything he has in him not to explode before things've even gotten started.

"Relax," Dean murmurs, noticing Sam's tensed body and rubbing his palm in soothing circles over Sam's stomach. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Sam grinds out. "Just … wanna last."

Dean chuckles, deep and rough and so damn sexy that Sam's eyes roll back in his head from the sound alone.

"Deep breaths," he advises, mouthing up the underside of Sam's cock. "But don't get light-headed and pass out, you're gonna wanna be awake for this."

Sam lifts his head a little to find Dean grinning wolfishly at him; this strange, predatory gleam in his eyes that Sam's never seen before – it's a little bit intimidating but it's also totally hot. He pushes up to his elbows so he can watch as Dean sucks the head of his cock into his mouth, those perfect, plump lips wrapped around him and Sam moans so loudly he wouldn't be surprised if they get one of those awkward calls from the front desk telling them to keep it down. Dean gives head like he does everything else when it comes to Sam; he throws his whole self into it, licking and sucking and humming around his mouthful like getting Sam off is the most important thing he's ever done. Sam's always a little bit humbled by it; he's not sure exactly what he ever did to deserve such fierce devotion, but he's certainly not complaining.

"Dean," Sam whimpers when Dean cups his palm around Sam's balls and rolls them with his strong fingers.

Dean pulls off Sam's dick with a wet pop that's so filthy it has a generous glob of precome blurting out of Sam's slit, and Dean hums deep in his throat like that's the most erotic thing ever.

"So wet for me baby boy," he whispers, stabbing his tongue into the sensitive ridge just under the head. "Always want it so bad, don't'cha?"

"Yeah," Sam breathes, because it's either that or loose his control completely and start babbling like an idiot. "Please, Dean."

Dean glances toward the night-table and laughs quietly. "Left the lotion right out in the open? Not very stealthy."

Sam blinks blearily and follows his brother's gaze, and yep – he totally forgot to stash the bottle in his haste to cover up when he'd heard the car outside. "Damn it," he mutters, rolling his eyes at himself.

"Good news for us, I guess," Dean concedes, reaching out and pumping a blob of it into his hands. "Gotta be more careful though, kiddo. If Dad had walked in here he would've totally known what you were doing."

Sam blushes again and turns his face into the pillow to hide it, but Dean distracts him from his temporary embarrassment by pressing a lotion-slicked fingertip up against his hole. Sam gasps in surprise, tossing his head back toward his brother. God, it feels _so_ much different when it's not his own finger, even though Dean isn't pushing in yet; just rubbing in tiny circles around the little puckered opening. Sam's heart is threatening to beat right out of his chest, an almost nauseating combination of nerves and excitement and apprehension, which of course Dean notices right away because apparently Sam's so transparent that he can't ever do _anything_ without Dean picking up on it.

"You … we don't have to do this," he says quietly, a little wrinkle in between his eyebrows and his eyes clouded over with worry.

"It's okay," Sam insists, shaking his head.

"I mean it." Dean pulls his hand away and squeezes Sam's thigh. "I won't be mad or something, I swear. It's all up to you, okay? Whatever you want."

"No, I …" Sam blows out a frustrated breath and turns his eyes downward again. Mostly he loves Dean's eyes, but sometimes he hates how easily they can see right through him. "It's a little bit scary," he admits; hating how pathetic he's sure he sounds, but there's no point lying to Dean. He can always tell. "But I want to. Really."

Dean nods thoughtfully, eyebrows still stitched together, and he crawls up Sam's body a few inches so he can lean in and kiss him tenderly. "I love you," he tells him, sincerity shining in the moss-colored pools of his eyes.

"I know," Sam answers; and he really does. He knows that better than he knows his own name. It's the one thing in the world he's never doubted, never even for a second.

Dean shuffles back down and with a small, encouraging smile, he wiggles his finger back in between the cheeks of Sam's ass and resumes the gentle petting. Sam takes a few deep breaths to calm himself, and then he nods at Dean to tell him it's okay to keep going. Dean dips his head down to mouth at Sam's cock again as his finger slips in, just to the first knuckle, and Sam totally forgets what he was so nervous about. It feels _incredible_, and he groans and rocks down into it.

"C'mon, more," he moans, body lit up like a Christmas tree and totally confused as to whether it should be pushing down onto Dean's finger or up into his mouth, so he sort of does both and neither at the same time.

"God damn," Dean mutters. His voice sounds all raspy and fucked-out and Sam smiles to himself. It's a sparkly kind of thrill; knowing how turned on Dean is by all this too. Then Dean pushes his finger in, fluidly all the way to the base, and Sam looses all other thoughts on one long, indulgent moan. Dean's fingers are thicker than his own, and it's just _better_ when it's someone else; better by about a million percent.

"Son of a _bitch_, Sammy, I can't even …" But whatever it is that Dean can't do gets lost in the moment, and he draws Sam's dick back into his mouth and sucks hard.

Sam's dizzy and totally light-headed; Dean lets Sam's erection slip into his throat and he swallows around him at the same pace as his finger fucking in and out of Sam's hole; it's _way_ too much sensation for Sam's already over-stimulated brain to possibly process all at once. He's close, too close, and he clutches at Dean's short hair to try to warn him off, but Dean stubbornly holds his position and just sucks harder the more Sam tries to push him away.

"_Dean_ … you gotta stop, man, m'gonna," Sam babbles, heat building at the base of his spine like a brushfire and spreading quickly out his extremities.

But Dean ignores him, crooking his finger to scratch along Sam's inner walls, and then he hits something that Sam never managed to reach with his own fingers; something that makes fireworks explode behind Sam's eyelids and his whole body arch right off the mattress and he's coming like a freight train down Dean's throat before he even realizes what's happening. Dean swallows everything Sam has to give, throat muscles fluttering around Sam's spurting cock and the tip of his blunt fingernail not letting up on that spot deep inside Sam that makes him come so hard his vision silvers out around the edges.

When Sam's softening dick gives a few final, feeble twitches, Dean leans back and lets it fall out of his mouth, but he licks at it gently while Sam lies there, boneless and sweaty and only a little disappointed that he came as quickly as he did.

"Sammy, holy _fuck_," Dean breathes raggedly, the words coming scratchy out of his abused throat, and he slithers back up Sam's useless body and kisses him; swirls his tongue around in Sam's mouth and lets Sam taste himself. Then he lowers himself back on top of Sam and rocks into him frantically, rock-hard dick slipping around in the sweat and spit all over Sam's abdomen. Sam is completely liquefied; he's little more than a warm body to rub against but Dean doesn't seem to mind – he just rolls his hips in quick circles and whispers obscenities into Sam's ear that Sam barely understands but enjoys anyway. Dean comes way faster than Sam did, painting Sam's stomach with his own creamy heat, and it's probably stupid but that makes Sam feel just a little bit better about not lasting long enough to get passed one finger.

Dean collapses onto Sam heavily enough to knock the wind out of him, but Sam definitely doesn't mind. It's a little difficult to breathe with Dean's chest compressing his, but Sam sighs happily anyway and wraps his arms around Dean's sweaty back. Dean hums quietly and burrows his face into Sam's neck. Sam's not sure how long they lay like that but eventually the drying sweat on his body starts to prickle his skin and it must be doing the same to Dean, because he lifts his head off Sam's shoulder and rolls to the side, sliding onto the mattress beside Sam and smiling blearily at him.

"You good?" Dean slurs, and Sam shrugs a little – shame creeping back up his neck now that he's come down from his orgasm.

"I guess," he mumbles, wiping across his mouth with the back of his hand.

Dean's face falls and he hoists himself back up to rest on his elbow. "What's wrong?"

Sam doesn't answer; he _can't_, not with the way his throat is tightening and his eyes are burning. Dean cups Sam's face with his free hand and makes Sam look at him; face twisted into a mask of concern.

"Sammy, what's wrong?" he asks again, thumb rubbing in a small arc over Sam's cheekbone.

"Just … m'sorry I couldn't … I wanted us to … you know? I didn't hold out."

Dean cocks his head to one side; he looks genuinely confused. "You wanted us to _what _exactly?"

"Have … sex," Sam mumbles miserably. He always tries so hard to be everything Dean deserves, and when stuff like this happens it makes him feel like a stupid, inadequate little kid.

Dean's eyes widen so quickly Sam's almost surprised they don't pop right out of his head. "You mean like _sex_ sex? Like, all the way sex?"

"Yeah."

"You … oh, Sammy," Dean sighs, eyes going all fond and glittery-soft. "That's not – you don't go all the way the same day as the very first time you have someone's fingers in you."

"Don't you want to?" Sam asks dejectedly, voice cracking painfully at the thought that Dean might not want it like Sam does. That he might not want _Sam_ like Sam wants him.

"God, of _course_ I do, baby boy," Dean assures, kissing Sam's forehead. "But that's … it's a really big deal, doing that. You're only fifteen."

Sam frowns. "You'd had sex when _you_ were my age."

"Yeah, with a _girl_," Dean argues. "That's different."

"Why?" Sam knows Dean's just being his usual, protective self, but he's always irritated when it feels like Dean's patronizing him.

"I don't know, it just is." Dean studies Sam's face closely, that little line of worry back on his forehead. "Why's this so important to you?"

"Cause …" Sam scrunches up his nose and blinks a few times until his eyes stop stinging and threatening to give in to tears. "Cause you've been with lots of people and … I dunno. I guess, maybe I was worried you might be getting bored with me, with waiting for me to catch up. I wanted to do this for you, that's why I practiced when you were away. I wanted …" Sam trails off and rolls onto his side so he can bury his face in the pillow again. He's _not_ gonna let Dean see him acting like such a wuss. He's not, he's not, he's not.

But Dean just huffs affectionately and worms his arm under Sam's neck, pulling Sam's body into his own and wrapping his arms around him. Despite the uncomfortable feeling eating through his stomach, Sam lets himself relax against Dean's solid chest.

"Don't ever think that again, okay?" Dean says softly into Sam's hair. "I could never be bored with you. Everything we've done so far? It's been the best ever, Sam, and I'm not just saying that."

Sam nods. Secretly, he suspects Dean actually is _just saying that_, but it's sort of nice to hear anyway. It soothes his insecurities, if only a little.

"We'll get there, alright?" Dean continues. He hugs Sam a little tighter and traces patterns with his fingers on Sam's lower back. "But we don't gotta rush."

"Okay," Sam whispers, snuggling closer and taking a deep lungful of Dean's comforting scent. "You're sure Dad's not coming back tonight, right?"

"Positive," Dean confirms, throwing a leg over Sam's so they're pressed completely together, shoulders to ankles. "Just you and me tonight."

"Good," Sam slurs into Dean's shoulder; his eyelids suddenly so heavy he can barely keep them open.

Dean yawns and his breath tickles Sam's ear, sending a dull, pleasant shiver down his spine. Sam nuzzles into the warm space under Dean's chin and then tucks his head there; safe and warm and perfectly content. There's a part of him that almost hopes Dad _never_ comes back, because Sam would be more than happy to spend the rest of his life right here; peaceful and sated, cradled in his big brother's arms. He doesn't say that out loud, but he doesn't really need to – he thinks Dean would probably agree with him if he did. Dean's fingers keep moving over Sam's skin even as his body goes slack, and Sam's pretty sure he hears Dean whisper "my Sammy" right before he falls asleep.


End file.
